Trail of Magic
by Space-scraper
Summary: My name was, still is, John Hamish Watson, I was fourteen and, oddly enough, attending Hogwarts school for the first time, when my entire yet admittedly vague idea of what Magic was... Drastically flipped, And, as long as I'm walking this Earth, alive, I will Always, always remember that school where...that year, even that day when... I met Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

**The dark and gloomy cloud**

Hogwarts. Harriet had told me all sort of things about Hogwar**ts**, about the teachers – the great ones as much as the bad ones - about the castle – the sly and malicious rooms, the secret corridors, the forbidden forest - about the students – classmates she likes, classmates she doesn't like, and others she wouldn't even call classmates… She talks a lot, always talks a lot about Hogwarts. Mum says she can't help it but I'm sure she does it on purpose, to make me envy her.

I still remember that day when the owl delivered my letter - I was ten, almost eleven - and Harriet climbed the stairs laughing and shouting like some hysterical maniac that her beloved brother was officially a wizard. Yes, she's nice sometimes as unbelievable as it may sound. My parents were both upstairs, doing whatever they were doing upstairs but still, they immediately rushed down and congratulated me. It was a little embarrassing, I guess, being the center of all that display of attention yet I loved it, I loved them when they were just like that, enthusiastic and all happy about nothing. Yes nothing, my letter from Hogwarts was nothing for me because I already knew I was a wizard and apparently a very promising one –which got Harriet a little hot under the collar- since my 7th birthday when I started to levitate while taking a nap in the garden after an excess of chocolate cake. Weeks after that incident, people from the Ministry had to visit us three or four times because I had inadvertently materialized a dark misty cloud above my sister's head that even my father couldn't chase away or because I had accidentally made myself half invisible or started to melt everything I touched…

'Oh no, don't worry, Mrs Watson!' said the –what was his title already? Agent for reparation of unwanted mistakes of magical nature, I think, it sounded like that, more or less.

'It happens; some children are just blessed with talent. It will stop once he'll get his wand to contain all that energy. These are just minor accidents, believe me, I saw a boy blow up his entire house once, and god knows the house was big, an old manor of some sort. He also bewitched a violin so that the music would send people to sleep; you can't imagine the mess it created…. And then, last year, he stole his brother's wand, roped him up with enchanted brambles and managed a protection charm so strong around his own room we had to call an Auror to destroy it. '

'For Merlin's pants! The same boy did all those things?'

'Yes my dear, but he's quite an exception actually, an twisted genius, you know, that sort of arrogant, troubled child you sometimes found in very noble and very unhappy families… Your little John is a kitten by comparison.'

The agent patted my scalp to emphasize his words and I frowned but said nothing and the afternoon went on and… Whatever, I digress.

Let's get back to the point: Hogwarts and my admission...

Nevertheless, for some reasons that I won't enumerate now, my father and I left two weeks after the letter had come. We travelled to the East, and I never attended to school that year, nor did I the next two years .

We only came back home three months ago. It should have been joyful, but our long absence, my injury, Harriet's constant rebellion, had let my mother broken, distressed and angry. Resentment and culpability were darkening our minds, and a gloomy, dark misty cloud had settled above the house in the late July.

And at that point, I began to wander what would happen to me next: would my father want me to join him again next time he'll be called for help on the other side of the world? Would he rather have me safe and sound at home this time? Would I somehow be obliged to stay here and recover, bored, and barely tolerating Harriet's incessant droning when she would come back on holidays? Needless to say, I was anxious and furious at myself: If only I had been a little more vigilant that day, we would still be there, far away in the Orient, and I would feel useful. That's why I was pondering bitterly since I got back, cursing between my teeth when my leg wouldn't obey me, and even crying a little sometimes.

And then, yesterday, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I went down the stairs, trying not to put too much weight on my bad leg and it was there, glimmering in the dark dawn, flying a few inches above the lounge table: a new letter, written on a velvety parchment marked by Hogward's seal.

To Young Mr John Hamish Watson

In the brick house of Feathergrey plain

Under the odd looking misty cloud

**HOGWART SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: Teddy Sirius Lupin

(Order of the Phoenix, S.P.E.W, vice-president of the Society of Metamorphoses, Werewolves Community.)

Dear Mr Watson,

We are pleased to inform you that you still have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September, we await your owl.

Yours sincerely,

_Neville Longbottom Deputy Headmaster._

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Hi everyone ! Just for letting you know, English is not my first language, so please, don't thrash or lapidate me if my syntax is … not that perfect :D. And by the way, if anyone would like to beta me and mark this fanfic, I'd be supremely glad!

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this!


	2. September 1

**2. September 1**

"John! Hey, do you remember me?"

It took me a few second to identify the boy who had just rushed into the compartment as my former neighbour, Mike Stanford.

"Yes! Yes of course, Mike. Hi! It's been a while!"

"Indeed, how are you? I mean beside …" He pointed my slight limp. "Harry just told me you'll be one of us this year! Good, awesome! May I join you?"

I nodded. He sat and talked. I smiled and nodded again. He went on talking, I went on nodding and in the end he stopped and we watched the silent zapping of blurry landscapes through the window. Later on, Harriet entered, followed by my childhood friend, Bill Murray and two other students. She attempted to introduce me to the captain of the Griffindor's quidditch team and to a girl named Clara but Bill and I were already joking around. After that, we all chattered a little about their Owls, about some weird events that had apparently occurred in the forbidden forest, and they gossiped about the Slytherins before the spark of the inevitable question started to combust: in which house will I be sorted?

But then, a little witch with a ponytail of brown hair queerly embedded in her hat shyly knocked on our open sliding door.

" 'Scuse me, I, hum, I…Do you happen to have some Wit-Sharpening Potion, it's just, it's…hum... a friend of mine needs some, he says it's important…"

"Wit-Sharpening Potion? Isn't it forbidden to bring that at school?" Clara asked.

"I don't know, I thought so but Sherlo…"

The girl never finished her sentence because at that precise moment, the train abruptly stopped and she tumbled toward me. I barely caught her before she hit the floor.

"Wow, you've got one hell of a reflex mate!" Bill praised. "I think we're arrived."

"Are you alright?" I helped her to her feet.

"Yes, yes thank you."

"What's your name?"

"Molly, hi… You, you're new aren't you? But you can't be a first year, you're too old…

"I'm John Watson, nice to meet you and you're right, I'm fourteen and yes, I'm new."

"Oh, okay, eh..maybe we should go…".

Full moon, carriages drawn by black creatures no one seemed to notice, barks skating above the silver depths of the dark lake, yellowish stained-glasses of the castle, cheerful voice of the housekeeper, Mrs Hudson's : Hogwarts.

Standing in the great hall, surrounded by a queue of first years in awe, my eyes focused on the star-spangled ceiling, the over-patched sorting hat waiting on a chair in front of us, the graceful teacher's table, Professor Lupin sitting peacefully in his golden throne, his long blue hair knitted behind his back, Professor Longbottom calling our names, loud applauses, W, I'll be the last one.

"John Hamish Watson?"

I knew some students must have looked as surprised as Molly had been when she met me. I randomly remember that Harriet had bet I'll end up in Hufflepuff, just like her, before I sat on the chair. And yet, the Hat hadn't even reached my head when he happily claimed "Gryffindor".

I smiled at the thought that I'll be with Bill and won't have my sister around to patronize me, take out her angers or spy on me. I caught Mike and Molly waving at me from the Ravenclaw table and I took a step forward to join mine. But the old Herbology teacher immediately placed his palm on my shoulder and leaned toward my ear. "Professor Lupin would be pleased to have a short interview with you after dinner, Mr Watson, you'll find his office on the second floor; the password is troll's mucus. Welcome to Hogwarts, by the way."

"Damn it, I missed the Gryffindor tour!" I cursed between my teeth when the gigantic clock of the headmaster's office sang the hour, the date, and the weather. Needless to point out that it_ literally_ sang. Minutes after, I asked the portrait of a young Hermione Granger if she had any idea when the Professor might come back. She raised a curious eye over her book and muttered:

"No, sorry… Did you know Belladona's Extract could give you night-vision? Well, I certainly didn't! I won't recommend using it though; it's written that a bad dosage may cause violent hallucinations. "

"Hum…Thanks…"

The door finally burst open before the Headmaster majestically walked in, clearly animated in his stormy debate with a very prim and proper witch dressed in ministry robes.

"It's too early to take such measures!" the headmaster protested.

"But what if this is one of them and what if there is more than one, you can't just ignore that, students may be in danger!" She argued on a warning tone.

"We haven't found anything proving that theory yet, Pansy!"

"Yes we did, obviously. Said a third voice coming from the shadowy corridor. Professor Lupin and the witch turned over. "But it proves the opposite, I'm afraid."

A slender figure, then, appeared in the dim light and gracefully followed them inside, his Slytherin coat floating around him. He stopped his enlightened eyes on me for a second and frowned but didn't mention my presence, as if I was only a curious part of the scenery but nothing more.

The singing clock sleepily sang midnight.

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A very honest "thank you!" to every soul here who reviewed, favorited, or followed this story.

I hope you it will continue to please you :)

I'll do my best to update very soon!

(I think, I still need a beta)

Good night!


	3. 3 The fellower

**The Fellower**

The singing clock sleepily sang midnight.

"Flagrantly enough, every detail tends to dismantle your theory Miss Parkinson- if you can even call that a theory - I'd said it's nothing else but a ridiculous superstition…" The Slytherin boy went on, his voice quick and low, as if the words came directly from his mind without being filtered by his tongue. He couldn't have been much older than me although he was clearly a head taller, but I had always been rather small so, yes, definitely not much older…And he had this face, this weird, intriguing, emaciated, unblemished face that couldn't be totally human.

The woman glanced daggers at him and Teddy Lupin, lips curled in a half-hidden sarcastic smile, paradoxically gave him a warning look too. And yet, the boy was already raising his arms in the air as an anticipation of his following monologue.

"Are you, at least, aware that your suspicions are not only wrong but also based on nothing but obsolete prejudices –which is, in fact, a good indicator of your aberrant credulity and of your even more aberrant absence of free-will and…

"Mr Holmes!" Lupin grumbled in a threatening tone "Don't make me ask you to behave yourself!"

"But she's wrong, she's so terribly wrong!" The boy retorted, almost shouting in frustration, pointing an accusing finger at the witch and vehemently shaking his black-haired head as if on the verge to explode.

She seemed about to answer something before she noticed my presence and lost her words. Lupin turned his head too, looked rather surprised to see me at first but almost immediately smiled.

"Oh and you must be John Watson" He concluded "Well Miss Parkinson, thank you again for your unnecessary interest in that situation, but as you can see headmaster's duty is calling and…."

"Oh for Merlin's sake Teddy! You wouldn't just dismiss me like this!"

"As a matter of fact, I would, I have to, young Mr Watson here needs my assistance." He opened the door and almost forced her out. "Good night Pansy!" He sang.

I would swear that I heard her mutter some sort of obscenity before she left.

Professor Lupin leaned against the door for a second before he smirked.

"Well, John, I have to admit I'm in your debt, now. You just saved my night!"

"_You_ summoned me, professor." I politely answered.

"Yes" He laughed. "Yes I did, the best idea I had today, believe me!"

The black hair-boy sighed his boredom.

"Sit down, please." I was ordered.

"I should go then." The slytherin said on an irritated tone.

"No, you're not leaving this room; I'm not finish with you yet." The headmaster snubbed, exasperation deepening his disturbingly calm voice.

Behind professor Lupin's back, I could see the boy frown and pout, chewing his need to protest as he started to pace along the office and I must have failed to contain my own urge to snort because they both suddenly looked at me: Lupin with this combination of amusement and pretended severity which was, as I started to realize it, his very essence, and the boy with an expression of surprise that slowly turned into a pensive smile.

"As you may know, John, It isn't in Hogwarts'customs to receive students in the middle of their schooling, not that I suspect anyone to have anything against it, but it is, simply put, a rare situation. Therefore, as I, I mean, as _we_ _both_ have absolutely no idea what your current level is, I suggest that you discover it by yourself." The boy sighed again and Lupin rolled his eyes before he continued. "Don't be alarm if you can't follow some classes of the third years, just try the second years 'one, the teachers have been foreworn, they will let you. The same goes of course, if you think you have a more advanced knowledge in some disciplines. In other words, you're free to choose as long as you don't rest too much on your laurels or, on the opposite, foolishly work yourself to death." His laughing eyes landed heavily on the black-haired student at that point. Then he looked back at me and at the boy again serveral times, as if reaching some sort of mysterious conclusion.

"Please don't." The boy immediately said to him and I felt rather impressed by the commanding tone of his voice that certainly wasn't appropriate. Then I wondered: don't what?

"It's not a punishment, nor an obligation, but think of it twice, it may reveal wonderfully rewarding to you both." The headmaster answered him.

"What?" I asked in vain, and now the Slytherin was watching me, observing me as if I was the host of some sort of inextricable truth. And I would have sworn I could hear the spiraling clockwork of his brain whistling.

"Alright!" He finally agreed.

"Good, very good!" Lupin cheerfully announced as he stood up and walked to the door. "Oh, and before I forget: You will be in detention until the next moon, and if I ever catch you in the forest again, I'll inform your brother. Professor Green also told me one of her supply case had mysteriously vanished during the dinner, any ideas? Anyway, try not to break any school rules by tomorrow morning, or at least not to get caught doing so; I would really appreciate to get some sleep. Well, I'll leave you to it then, good night! And don't forget to put out the fire, it makes the paintings uncomfortable."

The door closed slowly behing him and I rubbed my forehead in pure bewilderment.

"Molly Hooper." The boy muttered then.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"It-was-Molly-Hooper,she-skipped-the-desert. But-why-would-she-do-this?-Oh-yes-of-course, stupid me, stupid! The-wit-sharpening-potion! Ingredients!…Well, that-was …kind, I-suppose…But-now-we'll-have-to-hide-it, hide-it, where? Not-in-the-dormitories, obviously… The-room-of-requirement? No, no, Lupin-would… The-forest? Hum, tedious..." He was mumbling between his teeth, hands clasped together and pressed against his lips, sitting on the headmaster's desk, his feet resting on the base of the arm chair, looking at something vague in the air. He stayed quiet, motionless marble for a minute, but in the end I asked.

"What was that all about?"

He jumped with surprise as if he had totally forgotten about me.

"You're to be my fellower." He stated.

"Your what?"

"Fellower? Never heard of it? Clearly a play on words mingling 'fellow' and 'follower'- refers to a magical practice consisting in pairing a newcomer with a…"

"Alright, I got the idea. And…You are willing to do this?"

"Why not? Could be useful."

"But you don't know a thing about me and I didn't even know your name!"

"I know that your name is John Watson, you have a sister in Hufflepuff with whom you really don't get on well, mainly because of her capricious and jealous nature of which you bear the brunt since the day you were born, and also because she considers you as the only serious impediment in the way to satisfy the Oedipus complex she has never totally overcome." He barely breathed before he went on. "Your family is not rolling in money: housewife mother and your father is occupying a minor post in the D.L.M.W. Committee*- a low paying, yet difficult job- and as a member, he often got the opportunity to travel around the world to deal with civilizations in which the magical and non-magical worlds aren't that distinctly divided. Last time was in the Orient, and he brought you with him, meaning he has a deep esteem of your abilities. But the journey turned to be stormy since you arrived there right in the middle of a modern witch hunt, where was it? India, Pakistan, Afghanistan? Oh Afghanistan, Yes! You took part in the rescue missions, probably witnessed some atrocities and yet you insisted to stay there – enjoying the feeling of being helpful so maybe you started to manage some healing technics- yes, you strongly insisted, even after you were kidnaped and interrogated for four days … So, in the end, you did stay for two years until you got injured by an intercendio spell and were taken back to England to receive a proper treatment. You quickly recovered and regained full use of your limbs except your left leg which is still weaken… and that's weird because the spell didn't actually touch your leg, so it must be a side effect or retroactive effect of some sort -very interesting! Anyway, that's why you came to school on your third year with this slight claudication… I think I have enough data for the moment, don't you agree? Now, if you'd excuse me, I have a case to conceal in the crypt." He was about to leave proudly, holding the door handle when he turned over a last time to declaim with a wink. "My name is Sherlock Holmes and don't forget to put out the fire otherwise Lupin's going to lecture me, again!"

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And here is Sherlock XD! As always, I hope you liked it!

Love to you all!

(Please tell me if there is any mistakes.)

(*diplomatic liaison between Muggles and Wizards)


	4. Worming out

**4. Worming out.**

I can still clearly remember that I barely slept that night. Bill maintained that it must have been the result of the trip, of the sudden change of setting; I didn't contradict him even if I was convinced that he was mistaken. Gadding had never caused me such insomnia before, even when the awareness of imminent dangers kept my comrades eyes wide open, paralyzed in a blind, ineffective and yet perpetual wakefulness. Not to mention that the four-poster beds of Hogwarts proved to be, by far, the most comfortable that ever enfolded me. It wasn't the nightmares either – an unpleasantness I, alas, often suffered since my return- but that night I didn't have any. So yes, yes, the one and only reason I couldn't sleep was Sherlock Holmes.

My damned memory couldn't stop playing the previous scene again and again, as if trying to warn me, to point out, that I missed something, that I missed almost everything, to be honest. I mean, deciding to become somebody's fellower wasn't a side issue. According to the third article of the seventh chapter of the _Standard Book of Spell_ -rewritten and completed by Roxanne Weasley- that I was browsing in the dim light of my lantern- it involved a strong and complex enchantment that was to be pronounced at the fortunate moment and only at the fortunate moment, otherwise it could produce devastating effects. "Roxanne Weasley"I noticed. She was one of our teachers, the Charms teacher…

But let's stick to the facts: The slytherin, Sherlock, seemed so sure about this, so confident, that I couldn't help but assume that he treated it lightly, and by the light of his arrogant-nonchalant-apathetic behaviour, it was a legitimate doubt. Was he always like this? Who was he, really? Where did he get all those details, and about me of all people?! From Harriet? No, that seemed unlikely, besides, Harry didn't know about the kidnapping, no one did: my father and I had sworn that we would do our best to muddy the waters. So, how could he possibly know?

As soon as I left the common room where I was pacing up and down for the last thirty minutes or so, Kinky, Harriet's cat, dove into my feet, meowing pathetically, and nearly had me smashed my neck down the moving stairs. I picked up the damn beast and let out a curse loudly enough for the Fat Lady to cast me an offended glance and mutter something like "…getting worse each year". Kinky –whose name referred more to his temper than to his appearance- had taken a rather unpleasant fancy to me since his official owner often "forgot" to feed and entertain him, and, as I traveled along the corridors, he climbed on my shoulder, digging his little claws in the wool of my jumper. The great hall was almost empty except for some studious and early-riser Ravenclaws and for the old professor Longbottom, coming back from the green-houses, carrying a bucket of green worms and crossing the hall at a surprising lively speed given his advanced age. On his way, he waved good-mornings at us and stopped to chat with Nearly-Headless Nick to whom he was now explaining that he had to plant the worms before dawn if he wanted them to make a good fertilizer. Then he bowed a little and vanished in the spiral staircase. The sun was beginning to rise, indeed, and the rays, breaking through the horizon tree-line, faintly sparkled on the ceiling. A plate full of toasts and a smoky tea cup materialized in front of me at the same moment that Molly Hooper chose to sit at the Ravenclaw table –or, more precisely, to slump at the Ravenclaw table- rubbing her weary eyes and flattening her messy hair. I immediately grabbed my plate and cup to sit down next to her, convinced that I could worm information about Sherlock out of her.

Just as I started to learn a little more details about him- like, for example, that he had such skills in potions that Professor Green used to give him fifth years' assignments. He apparently was very gifted in DADA and Charms and also talented in Metamorphoses when he bothered to attend the classes. Then she had told me that he could recognize a werewolf by the state of his nails and identify a seeker by looking at his eyebrows, that he was, in short, beyond brilliant but usually rather solitary and very scornful, always in some sort of clash with everybody because he would say this or that… "I think most people hate him and admire him at the same time and, strangely enough, for the same reasons." Molly had said . "And he would always end up in detention at some point…Insolence toward teachers, hazardous experimentations on students, involvement in an average affray, bad habit of never minding his own business, misappropriate use of nurses' remedies, and so on. He's a phenomenon, you know, Sherlock… The greatness of his genius always competes with his lack of compassion. He's even insufferably cruel sometimes, yet I'm not sure if he really means it, he's just so tactless, undiplomatic…"

But as I said, just as I started to learn a little more details about him, Harriet showed up right behind me and brutally tore her cat from my neck –where he had snuggled up again after eating half of Molly's bacon - causing the animal to instinctively claw and deeply break through the skin of my bad shoulder. I nearly passed out, my vision turning all whitish, my ears deaf and everything…

But immediately when I recovered from the pain, I jumped over the bench, catching and protecting the cat in my arms, pouring out every insult I knew to my twat of a sister – even some of the good old Arabic ones that I had the pleasure to learn over the past years. My rudeness was rewarded by a noisy slap that Harry started to regret as soon as she saw me drawing my wand from my pocket. But it was too late; she was already bleeding ugly green worms from her nose. They were falling down like heavy rain and wiggling on the immaculate tessellation of the floor and I stormed out of the Great hall in order to stretch my leg and calm my tantrum down in the desert of the gardens. I was a Gryffindor, I had a temper -still have.

Sitting on a floating rock that bounced ever so slightly on the surface of the lack, I was watching the windows lighting up here and there in the dormitories, wondering if Sherlock and Molly had even gotten a glimpse of sleep last night with this whole hiding-case plan. The thought made me laugh and shake my head side to side and the Bloody Baron, passing by me, looked at me as if I was losing it.

Minutes went by. I didn't notice the –no, not an owl- hawk circling around me until it dropped a letter on my head. The letter landed on the shiny the dark water but I managed to catch it with my foot before it was dampened.

_Meet me at Mrs. Hudson's cabin, 7pm_

_Ps: Seem rather good with pets. Pets are dull. Give the hawk a dead mouse, freshly dead obviously._

_Pps: Your sister is still in the infirmary. Wormucus, isn't it? So predictable... Nice one though. _

_SH._

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Ohayo gozaimasu !

Thanks again to anyone who, followed, favorited and above all reviewed.

I probably won't update until Monday now. (Attending THE wedding party this week- end and actually hoping to come back alive)

See you soon!

Three kisses.


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